Cubs of Lannister
by AuraPanacea
Summary: A collection of stories from the points of view of young Cersei, Jaime, and Tyrion.
1. Cersei: The Punishment

"How much of what I have heard about my beloved daughter joining swordplay is true?" demanded Father, not uncalmly. He stood before her, his body stiff and straight as a board. Father's face had one expression for every emotion he felt, which was disappointment, frustration, contentment, and comtempt: a stiff, clenched jaw, glaring eyes, and head raised- always looking down upon those he adressed.

His daughter tried to imitate him, not betraying any emotion as she replied, "How much have you heard?" She sat on her bed, delicate hands folded in her lap.

Father pulled it from behind his back, his tough hand clenching the muddy sword.

Cersei's face went hot, she knew Father had discovered what she had done but had admittably held out some hope that he hadn't found the sword she'd dirtied. When she had seen his guards approaching her she had run back to the armoury and quickly discarded the sword in a dark corner, hoping it would be blamed on a lazy servant. Lord Tywin had no tolerance for unclean weaponry.

"Is this yours?" he asked sharply.

"No," Cersei answered honestly; she had really stolen it.

"You are correct, daughter. It is not." He placed it on her smooth, clean sheets of her bed. The mud slipped down from the blade in thick globs onto the delicate silk. Cersei did not dare protest.

"I have told you before not to play with weapons- they are not for little girls. Your punishment will begin with this sword's thorough cleaning. It shall sparkle next I see it, which will be after supper. You will recieve no help from handmaids, servants, or that little friend of yours."

That didn't concern Cersei much, as she still had-

"Nor will you force your brothers to do it for you," he added, knowing what she was thinking before she thought it. "It is your own punishment, your own lesson to learn. And besides that, Jaime and I have certain matters to attend to." Cersei noticed the small leather book peekng out his coat pocket. Reading, once again. _Matters indeed, do have fun with that little task, Father_, she thought. Cercei, who considered herself a quick and clever girl, had caught onto reading without strife. She'd tried to help her twin, but after a few hours declared him hopeless in the matter.

"And Tyrion will be attending to his own punishment," she heard him add.

Cersei could barely conceal a wicked smile, taking pride in her fiendish doing. It was _she _who had been reading in Father's study and had forgotten to put the books back into place. Unfortunately for her monstrous brother, who had discovered reading just a year ago and was wild about it, he was simply too easy to blame.

Lord Tywin noticed her suddenly uplifted mood his own expression darkened in turn. "After you are finished cleaning you will produce something reflecting your femininity. It is there, somewhere. Knit me something, a scarf, perhaps. Or put your painting skills to work, play a piece on your mandolin, memorize a sweet lyric. Whichever pleases you, daughter. But you must do something. You are to present your progress tonight at supper,"

Father turned and walked out of her bedchamber, shutting the door behind him.

Cersei pouted, crossing her arms tightly across her bodice and scowled at no one. She detested being told what to do, being punished. No one, not even Father, Lord of Casterly Rock and Hand of the King, ought to have the power to make her doing anything she did not please. What did it harm him, anyway, if she did like to practice sword play a little? It was only that, anyway: play. It should concern him not in the very least.

"Femininity my arse," she said angrily, reaching for the sword. "Dresses, songs, and Father be damned!" she swung it around, thrashing around at the imaginary foes surrounding her. She stormed over to her closet, her expanse of sparkling gowns. She selected the brightest, shimmery, elegant one of all, and shredded it to pieces.

She couldn't wait for Vera, her handmaiden, to walk in and find it. She'd throw a crazed fit, the thought of what her lord would say when he found what she had allowed Cersei to do making her dizzy with worry. Vera always fretted over every single matter, large or small, driving her to near insanity. Cersei found it immensely entertaining, especially when she was the one causing her grief.

She heard herself laugh a little as she picked up a little muddy shred, looking at it. This was a dress some lady or another had given her for her eigth birthday the year last.

This was amusing, she decided with a little smile spreading. Now, who to blame it on? Ah, she would concern herself with that later. There was a multitude of fools in the castle who'd make easy targets.

Cersei walked over toward her bed slowly, the hilt of the sword dragging on the scarlet rug. She'd try to get Vera to clean that for her. Shouldn't be too difficult, Cersei knew all the buttons to push. The sword she threw back onto the sheets; it made no matter now.

She heard a clatter beyond her window. Resentment bubbled up at whoever it was that was free to wander around, not concealed in a stuffy stupid chamber at the moment. She appraoched it to give a cruel word to the noise-maker and found when she peered out that it was none other than Jaime, strolling with a pal. They were laughing.

"Brother!" she called out, cupping her hands around her mouth.

He looked around, finally up towards her.

"Cersei! Was father upset?"

_No, not at all. He was so thrilled he threw his boots off and did a little dance. It was delightful. _Cersei rolled her eyes- she was far enough up he couldn't see.

"A bit. I have to do something lady-like," she shouted down. Cersei pulled her flawless golden hair to one side over her left shoulder and let it hand down the window. It was near her navel now and still growing. She was quite vain about her locks; they were more lovely than any lady or princess or Queen's who ever did live. She loved to show it off to Jaime, who she often caught admiring it.

"Sorry to hear that. Good luck with it," he yelled up. It looked like he and his friend were about to walk off, which made Cersei angry. Did she have to spell out everything for him?

"Do come up and keep your poor sister company," She leaned a little further out. After they had a bit of fun, she could certainly persuade him to paint something or other.

Just then, she saw Father walking toward the two boys. She quickly popped back inside her room away from the window.

Cersei let out an exasperated huff, having hoped Father wouldn't come looking for Jaime for a little while at least. No such fortune.

"Great, am i going to have to do this _myself_?" she complained aloud. Cersei walked sullenly over to her paint set, deciding it would be quickest. A simple flower, some grass, a blue sky. Something very original.

The little wooden stool and easel were awaiting her. She sat, selected a thick paintbrush and dipped it in a jar of goopy emerald paint. The brush slathered it all over the canvas in sloppy strokes. She went to switch paint and noticed that a piece of hair was coated in green. The water in the dish beside her bed was full of mud and grime from being used to hastily wash her hands, arms, and face before her father had come in. That wouldn't do. Her hair was fine and needed fresh, _clean _water.

Cersei stomped over to her door and opened it. As she suspected, there were no less than three guards standing watch. One, the tallest, looked down, lifting an eyebrow.

"I'm going to fetch clean water for my hair," she announced. How did she not think of such a good way to escape before?

"Since when do you fetch your own water, m'lady? I wouldn't dream of making Her Lovliness" -that was what she commanded them call her-"do such a chore herself. I will send someone for it,"

"No," she whined. "It'll _dry_,"

"And what do you think shall happen to me if it's discovered I let you out whilst you were supposed to be obeying your lord father?" he asked.

_You honestly think i care?_

The guard, Stevin, she thought his name was, called over a passing servant, her pudgy arms full with laundry. He told her to fetch a large bowl of rosewater for little Cersei. She wasn't that little.

Cersei decided to have a bit of fun with him, the cogs turning in her devious mind.

"Why do you work for my lord father? Is it because you'd be poor?" she asked, squinting up at him.

"Yes," he answered dully.

"Oh," she said. That wasn't as fun as she'd hoped. "Give me your helmet," she demanded, holding her hand out.

"I..."

Cersei could tell he was conflicted and it pleased her. Would he be scolded by his lord for disobeying his precious daughter or for foolishly giving her the helmet? What body part might he lose if he chose the incorrect course of action?

"What are you going to do with it?" he asked carefully.

"Oh, I'm going to paint it for father," she answered sweetly. She was confident they were all familiar with her punishment.

This seemed to satisfy Stevin; he almost looked flattered. "Well, if that's all.." he cautiously took it off, handed it to her.

"Thank you. You'll find my art is one-of-a-kind," she slammed the door and emitted a girlish snicker. Cersei had forgotten all about her hair as she walked over to her paint set, picking up her brush again and holding the the guard's golden armor in a good position. Opening every one of the twenty or so jars, she set to painting the smooth-surfaced helmet.


	2. Cersei: The Punishment pt 2

Bright orange, sunny yellow, pale and vibrant pinks, flowery violet, royal blue, and her favorite, a violent red, were all present on her masterpiece. On the front of the helm was a background of swirled blue and purple and green. Over it was a lion with a yellow and orange mane, a little pink nose and sharp white teeth, constructed with careful strokes. Around the rest of the helm was a dash of every color, covering the entire space. Everywhere there were two things; little fingerprints where she had held the helmet and splashes of the violent red, representing blood. Those decorated the entire piece, except, of course, the lion, which was without flaw.

Cersei set it on the stool and took a few steps back to admire her craftmenship from a distance, squinting her eyes to get a proper look at it. She smiled. It was lovely and sinister all at once, like her. She giggled at the thought of what Father would do to the guard. She wondered if she would ever see him again after supper- she would force him to wear it as he escorted her, of course. Oh, how clever she was! Through the door she asked how long it would be until supper and they said they were to take her now. Wonderful!

Cersei scurried back over to the stool, picked up the helm and carried it back. The door opened, and the look on Stevin's face was gold. The shock, followed by fear, then, could it be?, anger. But there was nothing he could do to Her Loveliness.

"Did you clean the sword?" he asked, suspecting the answer.

She was quiet, having completely forgotten. He smiled.

Then, she remembered. "Clean it now for me or I'll tell him you did _that_!" she commanded, poniting to the pile of of shredded dress on the floor.

"Why would I have reason to do that? Your lord father is no idiot," he replied, looking calmly at it.

"Do it!" she commanded once more, stomping a foot.

He stood, unmoving. He was waiting.

"Fine," she sighed, dropping the helm and rushing back in to clean it quickly. She got a cloth damp and wiped away the nastiness, running back with it when she was finished.

When Cersei returned Stevin was wearing his new and improved helm. "You look lovely," she said cheerfully, relishing his evident discomfort.

She practically skipped all the way down the corridors, smiling at everyone who did a double-take to gawk and stare at Stevin. She must remember not to appear too happy in Father's presence, though- this was still a punishment.

At the dining Hall doors, the two guards opened the doors for Cersei and Stevin as they walked in. Cercei did well to wipe the smile off her face, approaching the table stolidly.

"Evening, Father," she said, sitting down. The sword she set on the table, starting to take a piece of hot, juicy chicken from a platter.

"Cersei," Father wiped his mouth with a cloth. He and Jaime had already begun eating. Tyrion was no where to be seen, to her delight.

"Cersei, what did you do?" asked Jaime, an astonished look on his face. He staring at Stevin, who was standing guard at the door as he always did, his face stone.

Father looked up, following his son's gaze. His mouth opened a little when he saw it.

"My painting, Father. I hope you like it; I toiled endlessly on it to please you," Cersei told him sweetly.

He made no response. Father looked at her, then back to his plate and continued eating. Jaime did the same after a minute.

Well, where was it? The rage, the pride in his daughter's cleverness?

"Father?" she asked, more timidly now.

"What inspired your work, daughter?" he asked.

"Well, us, the Lannisters. Pink and blue and orange and purple represent the other Houses, the lion is bigger because it's better. The red is-"

"One moment." he interrupted, motioning to the guard. "Approach,"

Cersei continued as Father took a better look up close, telling him about the red and how it was blood of the enemy. The lion didn't have any, though, because it was too strong to bleed.

After a long while, Cersei and Jaime both waiting to hear what he had to make of all this, Father finally spoke.

"You did this, all yourself?" he asked, glowering. With him it was hard to predict his thoughts.

"Every bit," she answered.

"It is hardly lady-like," he sighed. "But i will accept it, as long as I have your word never to practice sword play with your brother ever again,"

"Oh, never Father, you have my word." she answered quickly.

"I mean it, Cersei. All I do is for the best, you'll thank me one day."

_I know what's best for me_. "Yes, Father," she replied. "I'll never practice sword play again,"

_That you'll know of._


End file.
